Ollie was vain of her prettiness, as any woman is, only in her case there was no soul beneath it to give it ballast. Her beauty was pretty much surface comeliness, and it was all there was of her, like a great singer who sometimes is nothing but a voice. Sol Greening was in the kitchen with his wife and his son's wife and two of the more distant neighbor women who had remained overnight. The other men who had watched with Sol around Isom's bier had gone off to dig a grave for the dead, after the neighborly custom there. As quick as her thought, Ollie's eyes sought the spot where Isom's blood had stood in the worn plank beside the table. The stain was gone. She drew her breath with freedom, seeing it so, yet wondering how they had done it, for she had heard all her life that the stain of human blood upon a floor could not be scoured away. "We was just gettin' a bite of breakfast together," said Mrs. Greening, her red face shining, and brighter for its big, friendly smile. "I was afraid you might not be able to find everything," explained Ollie, "and so I came down." "No need for you to do that, bless your heart!" Mrs. Greening said. "But we was just talkin' of callin' you. Sol, he run across something last night that we thought you might want to see as soon as you could." Ollie looked from one to the other of them with a question in her eyes. "Something--something of mine?" she asked. Mrs. Greening nodded. "Something Isom left. Fetch it to her, Sol." Sol disappeared into the dread parlor where Isom lay, and came back with a large envelope tied about with a blue string, and sealed at the back with wax over the knotted cord. "It's Isom's will," said Sol, giving it to Ollie. "When we was makin' room to fetch in the coffin and lay Isom out in it last night, we had to move the center table, and the drawer fell out of it. This paper was in there along with a bundle of old tax receipts. As soon as we seen what was on it, we decided it orto be put in your hands as soon as you woke up." "I didn't know he had a will," said Ollie, turning the envelope in her hands, not knowing what to make of it, or what to do with it, at all. "Read what's on the in-vellup," advised Sol, standing by importantly, his hands on his hips, his big legs spread out. Outside the sun was shining, tenderly yellow like a new plant. Ollie marked it with a lifting of relief. There would be no rain on the coffin. It was light enough to read the writing on the envelope where she stood, but she moved over to the window, wondering on the way. What was a will for but to leave property, and what need had Isom for making one? It was an old envelope, its edges browned by time, and the ink upon it was gray. My last Will and Testament. Isom Chase. N. B.--To be opened by John B. Little, in case he is living at the time of my death. If he is not, then this is to be filed by the finder, unopened, in the probate court.